Her Quicksilver Lover: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 6 (23 page)

“It is fortified. Your chambers are on the second floor, surrounded by immortals who love you. They will ensure her safety at all times. Or did you not realise how much you are loved?”

“Loved?” His thoughts went to Joanna.

“Your staff, and the people you helped. You say you’re doing this to form an effective barrier to the Titans taking over, but it’s so much more.” Wickhampton stretched his legs out before him, warming them before the slowly dying fire. “Have you thought about them?”

Closing his eyes, Amidei nodded. “But a dying business is not a place anyone wants to be, least of all employees. I’ll find places for them all.”

“But it won’t be here.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. How could evil gossip have such a result? Just talk? Argus had cleverly played on the worst aspects of society, and brought them to a head. “Argus produced a monster with a hundred heads that I can’t fight. It isn’t situated anywhere, and it doesn’t respond to a sword.” He glanced up. “If I find and destroy the perpetrator, that will stop further damage, but it’s already done. My only satisfaction would be revenge.”

Wickhampton lifted his glass to Amidei. “And stopping any further evil happening to anyone else.”

Amidei nodded. “That’s true. Then I will make it my business to seek him out before we leave. As long as Joanna is safe.”

Wickhampton nodded. “Give it a few days. Another scandal might take the place of this one. And we will make our plans.”

Chapter Fifteen

Amidei threw down the journal on the breakfast table in disgust. “Such filth. It’s as if he has a personal vendetta against me.” He had not felt that before, because Argus had aimed his efforts at the club, not at Amidei. He had tried to kill him in the house collapse, but at that time Amidei believed it was because he was the head of the club, and without him, the rest would fall apart. That kind of behaviour was something he’d come to expect from the Titans, who rarely allowed their concentration to slip.

“What is it?” Sitting opposite him, calmly eating scrambled eggs and bacon, Joanna smiled. With her glossy hair tumbling in rich chestnut over her shoulders and her skin glowing with health and loving, nobody would connect her with the pale, bespectacled maid who stuffed all her hair under huge linen caps.

“He can’t have you, so he’s decided to destroy your reputation.”

She glanced at the paper, but did not pick it up. “I don’t care. My father is free of his influence and I’m here with you.”

Her smile warmed him profoundly. “Thank you. But I will not have him traducing you.”

“He merely pokes at you.”

He growled. “I thought when we destroyed the printing press, or rather, when he did, that we would have a small respite. That it would at the very least take him some time to become established somewhere else.”

She shrugged. “I could have told you that would not happen. London has small presses aplenty, all thirsty for work. He can rent an hour on the machine, or however long it takes to set and print the journal. He does not have to have one of his own. All he needed to do was walk into the Cheshire Cheese and ask if anyone had any space.” Lifting her dish of tea, she took a sip. “What does he say?”

He kept her gaze. “That you are my mistress, and that I have debauched a respectable woman.” Keeping her attention, he opened his mind to her. She accepted him, taking him within her mind and her heart. Over the last three days they had made love, talked, and locked the world out while he took Wickhampton’s advice and gave the scandal time to blow over.

It had not. If anything, it had grown worse. He had not bothered to attend any more of the events of the season. He was probably an outcast by now.

He could not bring himself to care. All he wanted was to defeat Argus, and then take Joanna and her father to another place. For a few years he would step back and let someone else carry the fight forward.

Shock jolted her, sending tea spilling over the edge of her dish, until she relaxed, and her mind eased. “What does it matter? I have you, and that is all I care for.”

“You’re lying.” But he smiled, basking in her and her love for him. The last time a woman had seen through the masks he wore and the talents he wielded was a long time ago, and ended in tragedy. This would not. He knew that as surely as he knew his own name.

Getting to his feet, he threw his napkin at his place and rounded the table, going down on one knee and taking her hand. He met her soft gaze. “Joanna Spencer, would you do me the greatest honour of becoming my wife?”

She caught her breath. “Is this for respectability?”

He laughed. “Partly. I have already given myself to you. But also because we both deserve this. Our own happy ending. I love you very much.”

“I have no dowry, sir.” Her mouth was prim, but her eyes danced.

“Then I will have to ensure that you have one, will I not?” He shrugged. “Why should we care for that?”

She regarded him gravely, the smile in her eyes gone. “Indeed. That lack of a dowry prevented any man looking at me for anything more than what I am now. But if I had a thousand a year, I would probably not have met you, or been here now. I cannot regret that.”

He kissed her hand, and then rose to press a kiss to her mouth. “We’ll make plans to visit my house in France, with your father. Does that meet with your approval?”

Placing her hands on his shoulders, she pushed him away enough to gaze into his face. “Eventually. Amidei, this is not you. You want to find Gough, do you not? To make him pay for destroying you and your dependents. Although I am perfectly sure we will find contentment in France, you won’t be completely happy.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she touched his lips with one finger. “No, I will not hear protests to the contrary. My love, the knowledge that Patrick Gough is out there causing trouble will eat at you. I know you now, and your sense of responsibility is powerful. Let’s finish him before we leave.”

Gently, he removed her finger and moved closer. “And that is why I love you so much. But I will not see you in danger.” After one lingering, passionate kiss, he got to his feet.

She raised a brow. “I had thought we would be moving to the bedroom.”

Her pout made him smile, but then very little about her did not. “Later. But if I am to obtain a special licence, I must make haste.”

* * * * *

On the day of her wedding, a mere two days after he’d asked her, Joanna stood bewildered in the middle of a sea of silks, satins, velvets, and lace. Pale yellow brocade vied for her attention with rich blue cut velvet, and delicate apple green silk. Petticoats, embroidered, spangled, all the colours she could imagine and more besides, bearing outlandish names like
soupir d’amour
and
les ailes d’ange
met her gaze. They covered her bed, the daybed and the tallboy, their drapery outlandishly exotic.

“I will never wear all these.”

“You could try,” Betty said. She picked up an ivory satin and draped it over her arm. “I don’t think ivory is your colour, but of course you might disagree.”

“I don’t.”

At least that got rid of one of the gowns. Over breakfast Amidei had casually informed her that he’d ordered a few gowns delivered. “Because I don’t want you married in that bottle green drab jacket and brown petticoat.”

“I don’t have that any more,” she reminded him. It had been destroyed along with the house. She actually had very few clothes, but that had not mattered a great deal. Now she had more clothes than she’d ever owned in her life. He’d been thorough too, ordering linen, under petticoats, lace ruffles, silk stockings, shoes, fans, handkerchiefs—even night rails, though Joanna doubted she’d get much use out of those.

Her lover was passionate and inventive and, wanton that she was, she loved every minute of his attentions. However, sometimes she’d caught him watching her, or staring into space, and she knew she would have to persuade him to see the issue through. They had to find Argus and she was beginning to work out how. He would take quite some persuading, though.

Although Amidei had assured her their wedding would be a quiet affair, she still wanted to dress for the occasion. Almost everything she now owned would serve, but she picked blue, because that was his favourite colour.

Rummaging through the pile of petticoats, she found a white one with bluebells embroidered on it, which were the perfect match for the ones on her gown. A stomacher of white brocade would complete the outfit.

However, Joanna had never taken so long over dressing. Half an hour at most had completed her preparations every day, but arraying her in this magnificence took much longer. Betty had an assistant, who handed her pins and threaded needles and so forth.

The cap Joanna wore was a mere scrap of lace with frivolous lappets, which Betty pinned up to create a confection of delicate threaded lace. Her fan—when had she last used one of those?—was spangled to catch the light when she flicked it open. When she swished her skirts in front of the mirror, Joanna hardly recognised herself. About to ask them to find her something simpler, she stopped herself. Amidei would dress for his wedding. She could not do less.

She tossed her head as she left her bedroom, and swept downstairs to the mixed drawing room, where the vicar waited. With a special licence, they could marry anywhere, and what better place than the Pantheon Club?

When she went downstairs and found Lord Ellesmere waiting, tears sprang to her eyes. She had longed for this day, and for her father to give her away, but although he was recovering, he was not yet ready for the rigours of the ceremony. He had given her his blessing, tears in his eyes, and made her swear to recount every part of the events to him later.

For him, and for Amidei, Joanna blinked the tears away, dabbing up the residue with a clean handkerchief. “I wanted my father here,” she confessed.

“Think of me as your father,” he said. “I know that is difficult, but I am merely his deputy, nothing more. I know you will be good for d’Argento. He deserves this good fortune.”

“He won’t be sorry.” She had sworn that to herself, and now she gave Ellesmere the same words. “I will make him as happy as it is possible for a man to be.”

“Of course you will. As my wife has done to me. I would not have met her had I not gone to Bedlam to rescue Stretton. We have to step out of our normal spheres to meet our destiny sometimes.”

He held his arm out for her. She laid her hand on it, and nodded to the footman patiently waiting outside the room.

The footman flung open the double doors to admit her. She glanced at him, startled, and then back into the room.

It was full. Everyone inside appeared to her dazzled eyes to be dressed in the height of fashion. Sacques, robes d’anglaise, in all the colours she had upstairs and more. They were gossiping, just as if the room was the best and most exclusive salon in London. She recognised Lord Wickhampton, who sat at the front next to Amidei, but few others.

The staff had arranged the chairs in rows, facing forward. Every one was full, and all heads turned as she came in. Nobody appeared disapproving. Who were these people?

When she stepped forward, the thrum of power told her. They were immortals.

Where had they all come from? Why were they here?

As she stepped forward towards the man at the end of the makeshift aisle, she took in the faces. Now the stars had left her eyes, she recognised some people. Was the Earl of Ellesmere an immortal? And Lord Stretton? Goodness, she’d had no idea! They were powerful peers, not gods. Except, it seemed, they were both.

* * * * *

Joanna went through the ceremony in a dream, half believing none of this was real, and she’d wake up in the kitchen, with the cook admonishing her to get a move on and take that tray upstairs. Except the club was completely empty today.

The footmen on the door had been told to inform any members calling that the chimneys were being swept, and the club would be open as usual tomorrow. Amidei had thought of everything. After the ceremony, he led her through to the dining room, which had been laid out with one great table, made of the smaller ones pushed together, and provided with a feast fit for a king. A huge copy of the Four Rivers fountain in Rome stood in the centre, but it spouted white wine instead of water. Crystal goblets, gleaming silver, and plentiful removes stood ready to be eaten.

Best of all, when they entered, the staff lined the walls, and they were applauding. All the staff, not just the immortal ones. Not that Joanna was skilled in telling the difference yet. She would learn.

They ate, Amidei’s attentiveness making a few people nearby chuckle, and Joanna learned that every immortal who could come was there. “It was Wickhampton’s idea,” Amidei said, spooning a few more sugar peas onto her plate. “I know you like these, my love.” He reached for a dish of asparagus, but she protested she was close to bursting.

At which he murmured in her ear, “Not yet,” and she went hot with the reminder.

Glancing down, she moved the ring he had given her, a posy ring, with tiny diamonds studding the band, and inside, a secret message, which he informed her was merely
ti adora
, since that said it all.

At the end of the meal, the servants efficiently removed the dishes and the crisp white cloth, replaced the wineglasses with fresh ones, and set a few sweetmeats on the table in delicate porcelain dishes. They could have been in a palace.

Amidei got to his feet, and silence settled from chatter, to a low hum and then to silence. “Thank you for coming,” he said. He glanced at Lord Wickhampton. “I had no idea Apollo had this planned.” Joanna looked around in alarm, but the mortal servants had left and only immortals remained. Their departure had been so smooth she had not noticed, and she felt a burst of pride at the well-trained efficiency of the staff here. “I thank you. Most of all, I thank my lovely bride, who had the great good sense to accept my proposal.”

General laughter ensued, and they toasted her. On these occasions, toasts could go on for hours. Joanna was wondering whether to rise and lead the ladies into the other room when Lord Ellesmere rose and cleared his throat. Silence fell once more, and Amidei spoke one word into Joanna’s mind.
Jupiter.

While Joanna was doing her best not to let her mouth drop open in shock, the man spoke. “While we are all delighted to see Mercury finally married, we are not here for that alone.” He smiled and toasted her, nevertheless, but only took a sip of the sweet white dessert wine and then put his glass on the polished mahogany table. “We are heading for a crisis. Another one.”

A dazzlingly beautiful woman farther down the table, sitting next to a craggy but powerful man who had walked to his seat with the help of a cane, snorted. “The world is full of them.”

Venus. And the man next to her is Vulcan. The Earl and Countess of Valsgarth.

Vulcan-Valsgarth touched her arm and she turned to him, smiling so beautifully she made Joanna smile too. She had thought the marriage between Venus and Vulcan an unhappy one. Not, it appeared, in this version of the story.

Jupiter—Lord Ellesmere—continued, after shooting Lady Valsgarth the kind of glare that should have shrivelled her in her seat. She merely raised a brow. “This is a council, ladies and gentlemen. We are here to populate the club and to make it the centre of fashion.”

Beside her, Amidei gasped. “You could put yourselves in danger.”

Ellesmere curled his lip. “They would not dare. Not today. Not here.”

“I said that thirty years ago,” Amidei said. “Look what happened.”